The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (18 page)

Elom walked into
the room carrying the familiar digitablet and an object Galena couldn’t identify. It looked a little bit like a solagun, but it was thinner and made from a shinier material. The way he held it—so lovingly—made her heart quiver.

He didn’t release her from the bed. He just raised the back so she was sitting up, her legs stretched before her.

“Come to torture me with another news report?” Galena asked, trying to brazen it out. She kept her chin up and met his glittering dark eyes.

“You’re only half-right,” he replied, with one of his little disturbing smiles. He dragged a metal stool into the room, screeching it against the floor like a dying animal, and set it by the bed. Sitting perched on its edge, he studied her face in silence.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Elom said. “I would like you to think very hard before you answer. But you will answer.” His eyes met hers and she could find no emotion, no empathy in their depths.

She nodded that she understood. “We’ve played this game before.”

He smiled. “Not like this.”

Galena glanced again at the object in his hand. “Why now? Why are you asking now and not before you gave that woman my face?”

“We had to make sure the procedure worked before . . .” he paused, ominously, “. . . taking the next step.”

“I told you. I will tell you nothing.”

“I respectfully disagree. You will tell me everything.” Elom’s unconcern sent a chill through her. “Now, where to begin. How about an easy question. What is your name?”

Galena tilted her chin up, just slightly. “Galena Vadim, Ward of Ruslana.”

“Sadly, you are Ward no more. But we shall proceed. Who of your family still lives?”

She wanted to crush his face with her fist. “You know the answer to that question.”

Before she’d even realized he’d moved, a line of pain erupted along the side of her face, from her forehead through the key brand at her temple to her chin. She screamed.

He sat back, the pointed tip of the mysterious device glowing with blue flame. The tears that streamed from her eyes made the pain worse; her whole face was in agony.

“Now, please answer the question.”

She tensed against her bonds, wishing again for a way out, for the rescue she knew wouldn’t come. Panic rose from her stomach to her throat. She opened her mouth, but the only thing she could manage to voice was a whimper.

He held up the object again, adjusting the intensity of the flame. She pulled against her bonds, trying to get as far away as she could. Scrunching her eyes closed, she whispered, “I have a son still living, that is all.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Galena.” Elom sat back slightly, as if satisfied.

He asked her about the members of Ruslana’s Council, personal details about their families, what she knew of their non-work activities.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered at one point. “I haven’t seen these people in so long, I don’t know if they still—”

He cut her off with another line of flame, this time across her other cheek and the edge of her mouth. Another scream ripped from her throat.

He painted her face with the fire until she told him exactly what he wanted to know. She told him as tears slid down her cheeks and her skin burned. Her arms ached from straining to protect her face. She talked until she had nothing left. Until she
wanted
him to kill her, so she wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge of her own betrayal.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” He brushed a lock of hair from her face, not in a kind way, but to clear his canvas. “I’ve taken you from your family, your job. No one even knows you’re gone. No one suspects that you’re here, with me, giving up all your secrets.
Their
secrets. And the most delicious part?” He paused to draw a flourish on her skin. “I’m taking your face as well. Your friends would turn away from you in disgust if they saw you now. No one would believe you were Galena Vadim.” He smiled. “You are nothing now.”

It wasn’t until his final question that Galena dared defy him.

“Where is your son?” he asked, passing the device from hand to hand. Everything about him spoke of a man relaxed, comfortable with his place in the world. His role as interrogator.

Torturer.

She relaxed her fists, turned her hands palm up in their restraints. An entreaty. To whom, she didn’t know.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

The flame bit into the skin along her nose, between her eyes. She clamped her lips shut, terrified that if she opened her mouth to scream, she’d swallow fire. Inside, she begged for release, for it all to end.

The searing agony didn’t stop, and Elom asked his question again.

Finally, when she felt sure she would die and welcomed the darkness, she forced her blackened lips to smile. “I don’t know where he is, but I know
you’ll
never find him.”

She couldn’t tell anymore if he was touching flame to skin or not. Her face burned, would forever burn.

In the darkness, in the pain, she heard him say, “Hold on to that secret then, if you must. I have taken everything else.”

And she knew, in the empty tatters of her soul, in the lines of fire in her disfigured face, that he was right.

For weeks, Aris
flew with Major Vidar as her gunner. Almost every mission, he’d order her to land, sometimes far from where the rescue operation took place, and he’d haul his pack onto his shoulders and disappear.

He never told her where he was going, and a day or three later he would appear at morning formation, as if he’d been there the whole time.

“You
really
don’t know?” Dysis asked one morning, as they left the training ground. Major Vidar had just returned after another of these mysterious missions.

Aris shrugged, hiding her own questions behind bland nonchalance. “He never says.”

“And you don’t ask?” The wide door hissed open, admitting them to the building.

Aris gave Dysis a hard look. “If I was authorized to know, he’d tell me.” Had she wanted to ask? Yes, a million times. She’d even tried once, but he’d ignored her. The truth was, she had so many questions. Where he went, how he’d gotten his scar. How he could be so cool and level-headed all the time, even when the world was exploding.

“Your ability to follow the rules is truly admirable.” Otto made it sound like an insult.

“Who
cares
where he goes?” Aris grumbled. “It obviously doesn’t concern us.”

“I’ve never heard of officers going on solo missions like that,” Pallas said, looking thoughtful. “It does make you wonder.”

“Could it be something to do with Tarik?” Galec suggested. “Maybe he’s looking for more evidence against Safara?”

Dysis pounded the flat of her hand against her leg as she walked. “If he is, I hope he hasn’t found it. Tarik was enough.”

“I don’t know,” Galec mused. “Helena says there are many who believe Ward Balias’s explanation, that it was all a terrible mistake.”

Otto harrumphed. “Only because Ruslana is backing him. The bacterium must have eaten Ward Vadim’s brain. It’s the only explanation for her nonsensical support of such a snake.”

Pallas’s shoulders tensed. “It’s all such a mess.”

As they rounded the corner, Dysis stopped abruptly. The Commander and Lieutenant Daakon were standing in the middle of the corridor talking.

“—getting closer. It’s imperative we follow this lead quickly and discreetly,” Commander Nyx was saying.

“Commander, is there news of my brother?” Dysis burst out.

Commander Nyx went still. Slowly, he turned to stare at Dysis, and Aris fought the overwhelming urge to flee. “Excuse me, Specialist,” he said coldly and, turning to Daakon, “My office.” Daakon nodded, shooting a wary glance at Dysis.

Aris reached to take Dysis’s arm, to drag her the other direction before she said something stupid, but she didn’t get a chance.

“Why is there no news of Jax? It’s been months, and nothing! You could let me go and look for him. I could be doing something.” Dysis sputtered, the words tumbling over themselves.

The red scars around the Commander’s neck pulsed. “Specialist Latza. We’ve discussed this before. I thought I made myself clear.”

Lieutenant Daakon took half a step away from Commander Nyx. It appeared to be out of deference, but Aris caught a hint of worry in his eyes. She rather thought Daakon was stepping
toward
Dysis, as if his instinct was to protect her. Well,
him
. Daakon still didn’t know Dysis was a woman.

Otto elbowed Aris in the ribs; she turned to glare at him. He was backing away. Galec and Pallas were already halfway down the hall. They were smart to retreat, but she couldn’t leave her sectormate.
Blight her
.

Commander Nyx continued, his voice icy, “There can be no possibility that you do not understand the rules you are to adhere to, so I can only assume you meant to be insubordinate.”

Dysis’s chin went up, but she blanched. “No, sir,” she said gruffly. “I meant only to offer my services.”

The air was so thick with tension, Aris could hardly breathe.

Commander Nyx raised his brows. “Well, then.” He nodded to Lieutenant Daakon. “Please ensure Specialist Latza runs an extra three miles today.”

Daakon gave a smart nod. “Yes, sir.”

Dysis swallowed, but she didn’t say anything more, for which Aris was grateful. Commander Nyx suddenly seemed to notice Aris lurking in the hallway and turned his scowl on her. She fought to keep her knees from shaking. With a final nod, the Commander barked, “Dismissed,” and they hurried back the way they came.

“Why did you
do
that?” Aris hissed, punching her in the arm.

Dysis clamped her jaws tight, raised her chin, and kept walking toward their room.

Aris slowed. “Okay, well. I think I’ll go check my comms, so . . .”

When Dysis didn’t answer, Aris turned the other direction and headed for the rec room. She was desperate for a shower, but her sectormate obviously needed some cooldown time. She’d just send a quick comm to her parents with a new, hopefully more effective, excuse for not visiting. They were threatening to come see her in Panthea again; it was a blessing her father couldn’t stand the city. Otherwise, she’d never have been able to put them off this long. But they wouldn’t wait forever. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe if she hinted that—

Whomp.
Someone flew around the corner and slammed into her, knocking her to the ground.

Somehow Major Vidar kept his feet, but it took him a second to regain his balance. “My apologies, Specialist. I wasn’t paying attention.” He reached out to help her up.

Aris stared at his outstretched hand for a beat too long. Would he see the ripple of the veil when they touched?

“Specialist?”

“Sorry.” She gripped his fingers to pull herself up, then let go so quickly she almost stumbled again.

He made no derisive noise at her clumsiness, which was unlike him. As he pushed past her, she noticed the harried, faraway look in his eyes. He hadn’t lost his hard edge, exactly, but he definitely seemed distracted. Had something happened?

She continued on her way, mulling over this question. Ignoring the heat that clung to her fingers from his touch.

•••

In the darkness of her room, Major Vidar whispered her name.

Aris pulled on her uniform, still groggy, and followed him through the dim building to the wingjet landing pad.

“Sir?” she asked, her voice small in the moon-soaked night.

“Just us tonight, Specialist. Very dangerous mission. You ready?”

She nodded and stepped onto the wing and into the wingjet cabin. He settled into the seat beside her, his arm brushing hers. The moonlight glowed against his pale skin, highlighting his cheekbones and the straight line of his nose.

Before she could ask their destination, he tapped the coordinates into the nav panel.

She closed the shield, and they rocketed off into the night.

“Tell me about the girl,” Major Vidar said.

Aris blinked. She was too tired to concentrate on flying and interpreting his inexplicable questions at the same time. “Sir?”

“The girl you left in Lux. Tell me about her.”

She tensed, uncomfortable with the question. But she had to answer or risk giving herself away. So she thought of Calix, and how he saw her. “She has the most ridiculous hair, sir,” she said, remembering the feel of Calix’s hands threaded through her hair, the way he laughed when it flew wild in the wind. “It’s long and dark, like the shadows of sunset on the sand.”

“Most men begin with a woman’s lips or breasts, Aristos. And you talk about her hair.”

A tiny sigh escaped her lips, as she remembered the warmth of Calix’s hands against her breasts, the pressure of his lips on hers. “Her figure is fine, sir. And her lips are soft, softer than anything I’ve ever touched.” She wanted to tell him how smooth Calix’s skin was, how his lips felt on her throat, on the hollow of her collarbone.

“Did you say goodbye to her properly at least?” he asked, his voice soft in the close darkness of the cabin.

For just a moment, she closed her eyes, imagined, as she had countless times since that night on the beach before Calix left, what it would have been like if he had let them make love, if they’d stayed there in their cave, let their legs entwine, really been together. “I wanted to. More than anything in the world.”

The nav panel beeped, and she began her descent. The landing spot was at the edge of a cliff, a waterfall deep in the heart of Mittaka. In the moonlight the water flashed and winked at her as it threw itself over the edge.

The wingjet hummed onto the ground but Major Vidar made no move to leave. Suddenly, Aris was very aware of his arm against hers, the sound of his breathing. The wingjet had no center console; there was nothing between them but the darkness.

“Do you miss her?”

She tried to imagine herself before the selection ceremony, when her future with Calix had stretched happily, painlessly before her.

“I . . .” Her voice faded into the rumble of the waterfall. She turned toward Vidar’s shadow, saw the thin gleam of his scar. He was staring at her. For an infinite moment, they looked into each other’s eyes.

Before Aris could take a full breath, his lips crushed against hers. His hands clasped her face, and somehow, suddenly, she found herself pulling him closer, he was filling the cockpit, pressing her against the curved side of the shield.

She felt the warmth of his body against her, gasped as he teased her lips open with his tongue. Somehow she’d slid sideways on the seat and her leg was wrapping itself around his back, drawing him down to her.

Her loss of control was complete. Liberating. One simple truth filled her mind: She wanted him.

He ran a hand down her neck, gripped her waist, his mouth hot on hers.

Everywhere he touched her, she burned.

“Aris . . . .” He whispered her name and somehow it was the right one, her true name. She didn’t know how he knew, didn’t care, didn’t dare respond except by arching her hips against his. She let her hands slide along his face, felt the slight bump of his scar, traced it from his eye to his lip.

He turned his head slightly and took her finger in his mouth.

She moaned.

“Aristos?”

The voice wasn’t Major Vidar’s.

With a gasp, she yanked herself out of the dream.

The room was still dark, and her legs were tangled in the sheets, her tunic hitched to her waist. She was panting.

“Are you well? You were . . . making noises.” Dysis sounded like she couldn’t tell whether to be embarrassed or concerned. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Blighting
hell
.” The words exploded from her chest. Aris tried to relax, tried to settle her racing heart.
What the hell was that?

“Yeah, it was a nightmare,” she said, finally. As soon as the lights flipped on she was out of bed and heading to the washroom. She didn’t look at Dysis.

When she was disguise- and clothing-free, Aris turned on the shower and let the cool water pound against her hot cheeks.

She was just missing Calix. Spending a lot of time with Major Vidar on all these special missions. It was just her subconscious confusing what she really wanted with what she had to deal with everyday.

I want Calix and no one else.

Later, as she lay in bed, she drafted a comm to Calix, saying the words over and over in her mind, so she’d remember them until she could get to the rec room the next day.

Calix, I miss you so much. There are so many things I wish I could talk to you about, so many questions I want to ask you but know I can’t. Sometimes I wonder . . . I get this feeling like everything I’ve thought about the world, everything I’ve thought about myself is all upside down and inside out. I start to think maybe I don’t know anything at all. But I know if you were here, you’d help me figure it out. Be careful. Aris